Striking the Flame
by Soulfire79
Summary: The story of TF141 member John "Pyro" Enderson. Contains action and cursing, but waht do you expect from Call of Duty?
1. Prologue: Immolation

Prologue: Immolation

**-Locating John "Pyro" Enderson, TF141-**

**-Target Located. Location: Somalia-**

"Damn it!" I yelled. I had been in dangerous ops over the years, but it looked like I was officially screwed. The bodies of my comrades, killed by the crash, lay in the pavelow's wreckage all around me. My leg throbbed painfully, and I guessed it was sprained. It was a miracle I had survived the crash, but I doubted it mattered. Even now, I could hear the sound of the approaching militia, shouting in their harsh language to each other.

I quickly glanced around, scanning the area for anything I could use to defend myself. My eyes caught on something. "Bingo" I said, grabbing my M4A1 assault rifle from the ground. Amazingly, it had also survived, along with a few clips of ammo and a couple rifle grenades. I rose to my feet and hissed. Apparently, my leg was a lot worse than I had previously thought. It was probably broken, and that made the situation even worse. I turned to limp away from the wreck, when a small cry caught my attention. "Help!" it croaked, and it seemed to be coming from under a torn seat.

I limped over and lifted the debris. One of comrades, Fox, lay there, covered in wet blood. Both of his legs were obviously broken, shards of bone stabbing through his flesh. "Alright, I'm gonna pull you out of there, ok?"

He nodded, and I reached down to grab his arm. As careful as I could, I pulled him out. He attempted to contain himself, but the pain caused him to yelp involuntarily. With a great effort, I managed to pull him to the edge of the wreckage. "Ok, you keep 'em off our back and I'll get us to the secondary evac point. Just hang in there."

Again, he nodded his face as pale as fresh snow. With shaking hands, he pulled his M9 from its place on his hip and held it out in front of him. I did the same, taking hold of his collar. As I began to drag him, the militia came into sight. Yelling, they pointed at us with fingers and guns, and bullets whizzed all around us. My comrade yelled in defiance and fired his M9. I turned around and raised my own pistol, squeezing the trigger and dropping an RPG-toting militia with a pair of well-placed shots. I turned and looked ahead. A small cluster of buildings, probably a farm, spread out before us. Heaving with all my strength, I managed to drag my squad mate through a gap in the wall. I set him in front of a hole large enough for him to pick his shots through, but small enough that our enemies would have a devil of a time reaching him.

As I crouched at my own position, a blasted and toppled portion of wall, I heard the sound of static, then a voice. I quickly realized that my com-link had survived the crash, just fallen from my ear. Ducking down, I replaced it, and immediately asked, "Captain Mactavish, is that you?"

"Affirmative. Pyro, give me a sit-rep, over." The other voice replied, with that familiar Scottish accent.

"Fox and I are still up, but everyone else is gone. We're pinned down in a farm about 100 yards from the crash site. We've got 50 plus foot mobiles headed in our direction, armed and dangerous, over." I popped out from my cover long enough to launch a grenade. The projectile slammed into an unfortunate fighter, instantly killing him and two nearby companions.

"Understood, Pyro. How long can you hold on, over?" Mactavish asked.

I ducked as a volley of automatic fire whistled over my head. "Sir, we need evac ASAP! We can hold tight for a couple of minutes, but we can't keep displacing. Fox broke both legs and one of mine is broken, over."

"Alright, mate. We'll send in a chopper. ETA 8 minutes. Hold tight, stay under cover. Mactavish, out." He says, and then the line goes quiet.

Fox drops a magazine from his pistol and turns. "What did the captain say?" he asks.

"They're on their way, but we got to hold until they get here." I say, and he nods. I come up over cover and aim through my rifle's red dot sight. A volley of bullets cuts down a sniper and two others. I shift my view and cut down at least half a dozen until the magazine clicks empty. Cursing, I duck down and slap in a fresh clip. I rise and fire off another grenade. It's a good shot, and it tosses a cluster of hostiles through the air.

Unfortunately, I've stayed up to long. The only sound I hear is a lone shot, blaring like a bomb. Somehow, I even have the clarity to see who fired it. A lone sniper, clutching a rifle to his shoulder, and watching through the scope. I can almost see his smile as he sees his bullet fly on target. And then comes the pain. It blossoms in my midsection, like a red-hot iron spike. Before I know it, I'm lying on the ground, blood flowing onto the sand. I dimly hear Fox's voice, yelling at me to get up. Instead, I do the only thing I can, which is crawl. I crawl away from the wall, as far as I can, then turn.

The militants enter. Fox fires off a couple shots until his gun jams. One of the militants steps out, a large revolver in his hands. He aims it straight at Fox's head, and pulls the trigger. Fox's limp body falls, his eyes unseeing, to the ground.

I'm next. The man walks over, and raises the gun to my head. There is nothing I can do.


	2. Flying Sparks

Chapter 1: Flying Sparks

**-Locating: SSgt. John Enderson, U. S. Green Berets-**

**-Date 3/6/? 20:30-**

**-Location: Afghanistan-**

The men in the Humvee were quiet, for the most part. Each was preparing for the assault that was soon to come in their own way. Jorgen sat silently, slowing gnawing his lip as he held his rifle close. Lugden clutched a rosary close to his forehead, murmuring a continuous stream of Hail Marys. Greeves, as always, seemed calm, slowly breathing in and out. He almost seemed to be sleeping, he looked so relaxed.

And then there's me. I guess you could say I had a pre-battle ritual. Nothing that showed physically, however. I just imagined my home, a large farm back in the States. I didn't remember anything specifically, but after a couple of months in this hellhole, any memory of home is good.

We've participated in a few combat operations of the past couple months. Mostly we raided campsites, or liberated villages. Small stuff, but it still felt really important when you were being shot at! But today, we were taking the bull by the horns.

A large town in southern Afghanistan was our target. It was an insurgent stronghold, one of the last bastions the terrorists had to hide out in. Orders had come down from the top, ordering a full scale invasion of the town. That was four days ago. Since then, our troops have faced heavy resistance, fighting for every inch of ground and paying for each captured street with buckets of blood. The cost was much higher than Command had expected, with 223 troops KIA in only four days, along with 786 wounded.

Command had decided that they wanted a speedy end to the fighting. That's where we come in. Leading the insurgent defense is a high-ranked terrorist, known only by the name of Jackal. He was the leading force behind the battle, holding his crumbling army together in the face of an overwhelming assault. It stood to reason that with his death, insurgent resistance would be demoralized and perhaps crippled. Either way, it was a good enough excuse to send our special ops team behind enemy lines to assassinate the man.

Our Humvee was currently driving us to the insertion point, about two klicks east of the city. The insurgent HQ and target location was about 5 klicks from there, deep in the city. Our Humvee came to a stop, covering it in a small cloud of sand. After it cleared, we were left staring at the barren landscape all around us. "Alright," said our driver, "this is the insertion point. Be at Extraction Point LZ Bravo in 4 hours. Understood?" we nodded, "Alright, good luck."

My team and I hopped out, and then the Humvee sped off, kicking up another cloud of dust. I turned to my team, and said, "Alright, we all know the plan? We get in, tag and bag, and then get out, hooah?

"Hooah." they responded. And we started moving towards the city.

As we made our way towards the city, night began to fall, necessitating the need for night-vision optics. We were clear for about a klick, when we encountered a ramshackle building. It was probably a farmhouse or family home in its heyday. Presently, it was occupied by a group of insurgents. I could make out about four hostiles. Each was holding a Kalashnikov (AK series) weapon, and standing around a barrel fire. Obviously this was some kind of outlying post for scouts, and the militants were attempting to keep warm in the extremely cold night. A low wall blocked out the view of the insurgents' feet, but the rest of them was exposed. At this distance, it was impossible for them to see us, but we could easily see them.

I motioned to my team. "Ok, we got four tangos up ahead, all around a fire. All armed. Jorgen and Greeves (my snipers), take 'em down, quick and quiet. Lugden, you're with me. We'll pick off any survivors. Make sure none of them reach any kind of contact device." Jorgen and Greeves went crouched and prone, respectively. Jorgen aimed down his M21 EBR and Greeves through the scope of his bolt-action R700 sniper. Lugden crouched next to the snipers, a M16 in his hands, while I aimed through the EOTech holographic sight on my trusty ACR. All of our weapons were, of course, silenced.

"On my mark." I said, "Three, two… one." Jorgen and Greeves fired almost simultaneously. One bullet struck straight through a militants chest, sending him to his knees, while the other took its target straight through the head, dropping him immediately (I could have sworn I heard Greeves mumble "headshot"). The two surviving insurgents quickly hoisted their AKs, trying to target an enemy they couldn't see. Their frenzied jostling put them into line for a perfect shot from Lugden which dropped them both. My team began to relax, when another militant popped up and bolted, obviously trying to reach safety and contact his fellows. With pinpoint accuracy, I fired a quick burst. A bullet traveled through the man's skull, splashing blood across the wall behind him.

Cautiously, we moved up, making sure that all our enemies were down. Greeves piped up with a suggestion, "We should grab the uniforms. It'll cover our approach." We nodded and agreed, taking the enemy's garb and washing as much of the blood off as possible. Lugden and I both drop our rifles in favor of the more appropriate AK-47s We wrapped scarves around our faces, and wore black glasses, effectively disguising us.

Lugden chuckled, "We look just like the enemy, huh?"

"Yeah, wolves in sheep's clothing." Jorgen responded, his expression serious.

The team quickly headed out, crossing the remaining distance to the town quickly. Access to the city was controlled by numerous checkpoints on the roads in. After some quick recon, we determined the most accessible point, a small checkpoint manned by three guards. We approached, seemingly just another patrol coming in. A soldier stepped forward to greet us, speaking in his native tongue. I walked past the other two militants, and then turned. I gave my team a slow nod.

Quick as lightning (or so I like to think), I whipped out my silenced M9 sidearm. I quickly put a bullet in one militant's head, and another two into the other's chest. The soldier greeting my team looked back at me, shock on his face. So he never noticed the knife in Greeve's hand until it was too late. We quickly hid the bodies in an alley and moved on.

The streets of the town were eerily quiet. Surely there were people in the houses next to us, but they were obviously too afraid to show themselves to a militant patrol. Gunshots and explosions echoed in the background, a testament to the battle being fought just streets away. Calling my team over, we moved into a small alleyway. Once they had gathered, I spread a map of the surrounding area on the wall. "The enemy HQ is believed to be in this building." I said, pointing to a large, mosque type structure, "There are several buildings overlooking it, and a large hole in the roof should allow you two to give us cover fire." I said, looking at my snipers.

We continued to move through the street, encountering few patrols and letting those that we did meet pass by. Soon enough, we had reached the target. The mosque itself was quite large, but it had been extensively damaged by bombing. As we closed in, the two snipers broke off and walked into a nearby building. We gave them a couple of minutes to reach a good position. "Sniper Team, give me a sitrep, over."

"We are in position, I repeat, we are in position. We see what may be the target, do not have a clear shot. He just headed into a side room. The main room ahead of you has about a dozen hostiles inside, over." said Jorgen, over our com link.

"Okay, I got a plan." I said, explaining the specifics of my plan. Lugden nodded, and Greeves even chuckled at the deviousness of the plan. Lugden followed me, covering my six as we moved through a wide alleyway and into a parking lot. A couple of cars sat there, perfect for my plan. I worked quickly, arming two packages of highly explosive C4 and connecting them to two different detonators. One I threw into the front seat of a random parked car. The second, however, was carefully placed. A car was parked next to the egress of the alleyway, the perfect spot for the second phase of the plan. I slid under the car, planting a package of C4 on its underside, completely out of sight. Then, making sure I knew which detonator was which, we returned to a spot just outside the mosque, opposite the alley.

"Sniper Team, once the room is partially cleared, eliminate any hostiles still present. Warn me when the hostiles reach the killzone, over." I said over the coms. Taking a deep breath, I triggered the first detonator. We heard the explosion from our position, confirming that the first package had successfully detonated.

Jorgen's voice crackled over the coms a few seconds later, saying, "Seven, no eight, hostiles have left the target building. Engaging remaining hostiles." after another pause, the voice said, "Hostiles neutralized. You are cleared to advance into the target building. Hostile patrol reaching killzone in about, oh, 30 seconds, over."

Lugden and I walked into the mosque cautiously, and took a look around. Four militants were sprawled out on the ground, courtesy of our sniper team. Up a small flight of stairs was the only visible door, likely where the Jackal was holding his meeting. A voice buzzed in my ear, detonator. A second boom sounded, off in the distance. The voice came again, saying, "All hostiles neutralized. A couple survived the blast, but we picked 'em off. That was one hell of a bomb sir, over."

I chuckled to myself. "Alright, it's time to snag the buck on this deer hunt. Lugden, we're going to breach. Pick a side and plant the charge." We moved up to the door, and I put my ear to the door. I could hear voices on the other side. Standing up, I nodded to Lugden, and then took my place on the right side of the door, my AK-47 clutched tightly. Lugden pulled out a door charge from his equipment, and pressed it against the door. He fell back to his side of the frame, as I mentally counted _three…two…one._

The charge exploded, blasting the door into splinters and blocks that flew into the room. I leaped into the gap, followed by Lugden, who yelled, "Special delivery from the U. S. Army!" The shocked inhabitants of the room, including the Jackal, could do nothing but stare as we pulled the triggers. A stream of automatic fire burst out of our weapons, ripping into the rooms inhabitants. The Jackal went down first, laid low by a concentrated attack, followed by a pair of nearby officers. A guard tried to reach his sidearm, but not fast enough, as my bullets beat him to it. The rest of the figures in the room crumpled, full of lead from the vicious AK-47. The carnage seemed to last for hours, though in reality it had only taken a couple seconds to empty our magazines. We checked all six bodies in the room for vital signs, but they had all been killed in the firefight.

My eyes lingered on the Jackal. His face was twisted in surprise and pain, certainly due to his sudden and violent end. I stepped back, pulling out a small camera I had been ordered to use to gain photographic evidence that the man had been killed. I snapped a couple shots, when Jorgen's panicked voice filled my ears. "Sir, one of the dead was just faking. He managed to crawl away and contact somebody! There's a whole crowd of hostiles converging on our position!"

"Shit!" I yelled. I contacted Command HQ as we exited the mosque. "Command, we have neutralized the VIP. Our cover is blown! Say again, we have been discovered! Requesting immediate extraction, over!"

"Hunter Team Alpha, we copy. Sending an evac chopper to primary LZ. ETA ten minutes, over." The voice on the other end responded.

Greeves and Jorgen joined Lugden and I as we dashed to the LZ. "Command, I think the situation is going be pretty fubar in ten minutes!" I yelled back. "We've thirty plus hostiles in fast pursuit, over!" I yelled. Turning, I fired a burst into the pursuing group, taking down one, maybe two, pursuers. Lugden turned and fired, while Jorgen and Greeves pulled out their side arms and followed suit. We ran wildly down a street, away from the attacking mob, making for the LZ that had just came into view. Gunfire flew at us in a wave, but we had amazingly evaded all the shots.

Suddenly, Lugden yelled. I looked back at him. His hand covered a bloody wound that had begun to spread blood all over his clothing. He stumbled, pushing himself up to his feet with the butt of his rifle. "Damn, I'm not gonna make it!" he yelled. I watched in horror as he turned and stood, firing into the enemy and yelling "Hooah!" at the top of his lungs. Somehow, my legs kept moving as I watched him get shot full of bullets, falling to the ground under a hail of gunfire.

I turned from the ghastly site, and realized we were at the LZ. My squad and I tried to find cover in the small square we found ourselves in, jumping behind piles of rubble and digging in to hold off the enemy. As the only one with an automatic weapon left, I sprayed the entrance to the street we had just vacated, mowing down any who tried to move in to the square. Greeves and Jorgen picked out specific enemies to snipe. "Where the hell is that damned evac helo?" screamed Greeves.

Jorgen turned, searching the sky for any sign of rescue. "There! There it-uugghh!" he said, his voice cutting off in a strangled gurgle. I turned to see him collapse, a bloody hole in his throat from a well-placed shot. I flicked my gaze upward to see the approaching helicopter he had spotted.

The pavelow came straight down, landing with the cockpit facing the alleyway. The pilot's voice cut into my com, saying "Guns, guns, guns." The machine guns mounted on the helo began to fire rapidly into the group entering the square. The insurgents tried to retreat, but the bullets swiftly cut them down, painting the street a shade of crimson. The entrance ramp in the back of the helo lowered, and Greeves and I charge inside, relieved to finally be safe.

Another man was already sitting in the passenger area, smoking a cigar. The door behind us closed up, and I felt the pavelow take off. The man dropped the cigar, and stamped it out under is boot. He turned to Greeves and I, and I could barely make him out in the dim light. I could tell he had a large white moustache, but that was about it. "My name is General Sheperd." he said, extending a hand to Greeves and me, "Impressive performance back there."

"I lost two men," I said, "and what do you want?"

"Casualties of war." Said, waving his hand as if it were no big deal, "I would like to recruit you two into a special task force." He said.

Greeves and I exchanged glances. "We're listening." I said.

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